Temper
by AmazinglyMe
Summary: I sighed, a long, hopeless whoosh of warm air flying into my pillow and stopping there, brought to a halt by cheap fabric and feathers. Mush tries to understand Race's reaction to Blink's death. So yes, rated for character death. A look at Race.


_A/N: My first newsies "death" piece. You've been warned - there is character death here. It's darker than most things of written (it's not particularly dark really) and that's why its not with my collection of other Newsies oneshots - this is rated T for character death and out of caution. Just in face anybody was wondering...or something. :P_

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"He had a freakin' temper."

That was the first thing Race said when I managed to get the words out and it stunned me, sent me reeling, because I couldn't believe it. It didn't make any sense, because we were close, we were the Three Musketeers, tight knit. You hurt one of us you dealt with all of us, and that was a given.

But when I told Race his eyes snapped into cold bits of flint, dark and unreadable and he spat out those words.

"Blink's -- he's -- he's dead Race."

"He had a freakin' temper Mush."

At first I thought maybe they'd had a fight that morning or something, but I knew they hadn't really. They'd been fine that morning - so had I. I wasn't fine anymore, and logically, Race shouldn't be fine either but he went back to his poker game, and he won too.

I went in and sat down on my bunk because I just didn't believe it - any of it.

I hadn't told anybody but Race because I figured he deserved to know. But maybe not. Maybe it didn't even matter - maybe years of friendship boiled down into nothing when you stuck it under scrutiny. Or maybe Race was just a selfish jerk. I couldn't decide.

Race went out somewhere that night, I don't know where. Probably got drunk. But when he came back he was just as composed as earlier. By that time I'd had to tell practically the whole lodging house and I couldn't even _sit up_ anymore, so I was lying in my bunk being avoided. Everybody probably expected Race to be the same but he just came in and played some more poker.

"You okay Race? We heard about Blink ya know." Someone said to him, and Race didn't even turn around from his card game - didn't even take his cigar out of his mouth.

"He had a freakin' temper." He said in a deadpan voice, his poker face firmly in place.

I almost expected him to add, "He had it comin'" but he didn't say anything else, and I was glad because I didn't have the energy to get up and soak him like he deserved.

It was really late when everybody headed into bed that night. I couldn't get any sleep and that made sense of course because I was one part of a three pronged entity or somethin' like that (I was feeling groggy) and there was no way I was getting any sleep.

Race snores ya know.

Loudly, and with little grunts. Nobody ever tells him because who in their right minds would? No one. So instead we just let him snore and laughed about it in the mornings. I waited to hear Race's snores, to compile one more reason for absolute fury towards him.

But I didn't hear a thing.

I kept listening but the still night air was all I heard. I needed to hear those snores, needed to know I could hate my best friend, needed concrete proof of his disloyalty, his cruelty. I needed him to fall asleep on the night one of his best friends had died.

So I kept listening.

And after a while I did hear something. I kept perfectly quiet, controlling my breathing, but what I heard wasn't snoring.

It was shaky intakes of breath and sobs.

Race was crying.

I sighed, a long, hopeless whoosh of warm air flying into my pillow and stopping there, brought to a halt by cheap fabric and feathers. I got up and climbed down the ladder. I know Race heard me but by then I don't think he could be brought to care. I went over and sat on the edge of his bunk and waited for a while, looking for something to say. I'd been lying around grieving all day - couldn't I at least comfort my friend?

My eyes felt like someone had rubbed them, inside and out with sandpaper, my mouth was dry and full of a bitter, metallic, salty taste that must be tears and anger I supposed. My hat that I'd never taken off was itching but I didn't have the energy to lift a hand and remove it. My eyelids were heavy but I knew they wouldn't close.

I still couldn't figure out what I was supposed to say, and I wondered if maybe I wasn't supposed to say anything.

I hit upon it a half an hour later as I slumped back onto the bed post, listless. Race's crying hadn't stopped and it was a hopeless noise. I opened my mouth and said the words that I knew now didn't mean a thing. We both knew.

"He had a freakin' temper Race." I said, and Race nodded.

"Yeah," He said, his accent thick and choked but his breath returning to a normal pace as he wiped his eyes and we both got ready to pretend I'd never even gotten up. "Yeah, he did."

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_A/N: Please let me know what you thought of it. :) _  



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